


don't worry; i got you

by enbycupcake



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Domme!Padmé, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Sub!Anakin, Trans Anakin, Trans Character, Trans Padmé, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycupcake/pseuds/enbycupcake
Summary: Anakin goes to see his wife, but he didn't stop to use the refresher first. He can't hold it past her entrance room.Padmé doesn't mind as much as either of them expected.





	don't worry; i got you

**Author's Note:**

> So, loving, confused first time pants wetting, yes/no? Neither of them expect Padmé to find Anakin wetting himself hot; it merely starts because he can't make it to her refresher. Padmé put on her Domme voice to help him relax about wetting himself, to let him know that it was okay.

Biting his lip, Anakin swallows down the little whine that creeps up his throat. The rumble of his speeder, while usually one of the fastest things to calm him down, is only agitating him more right now. Between his legs, the slight vibrations from its motor jostle him just enough for him to notice. It forces him to grip tighter on the handles, to pull his lip harder. 

The jostling of his speeder is keeping his attention on how full his bladder is. 

Turning, Anakin lets out a low whine. He’d been catching up on paperwork, filling out injury reports and requests for clone transfers, tidying up recountings of events and analyzing what his people need versus what they can stretch without, doing the minute things of running a battalion. While he finds it terribly boring, it is necessary, and he’d settled into a delicate rhythm, not coming up out of the datapads and flimsi until he finished. By then, he’d finished all of his pot of caf and then the one of tea that Ahsoka had likely taken from Obi-Wan to hand him. Anakin hadn’t even considered stopping to go to the refresher, however; yesterday, he had promised Padmé that he’d come over to fix a loose wire of Threepio’s, and it was already late. 

He regrets not taking the quick break to stop to relieve himself before departing. As is, he doesn’t know if he’ll make it to the toilet in time. Adjusting his grip, Anakin tightens his thighs as he maneuvers over into another speeder lane. He’s almost there. He’s so, so close to the apartment. 

The three lane changes and two turns to the Senator Housing Complex feel like the longest stretch of time in his life, even longer than the nasty stakeout business with traders on the lower levels. Every time he has to slow down drags, every time he speeds up jolts him, every turn, every leveling, makes his bladder scream, makes Anakin’s stomach knot up and threaten to give out. The urge to cry is barely restrained; it’s purely for the sake of Padmé not asking him why he’s crying that Anakin manages to not let tears escape. 

His landing is bantha shit poor, but Anakin doesn’t care right now. He can’t think of anything but the pressure, the weight held in his abdomen threatening to make him embarrass himself. It’s heavier than the dead weight of carrying an unconscious Obi-Wan, something he has done more times than he cares to count, and Anakin digs his fingers into his palms as he collapses into the back elevator to get to Padmé’s floor. His legs are shaking, his left palm sending pain signals to his brain he’s pressing so deeply. But still, Anakin holds it. 

He can’t wet himself. He _can’t_. He’s _almost there_. 

When the elevator stops, Anakin sucks in a deep breath. It hurts. He’s so full, and his next step he has to press a hand against the door to steady himself. Walking upright is more difficult than he anticipated after having stood mostly still to get up here, and Anakin spits out a curse. Squeezing his eyes shut, he awkwardly makes his way to Padmé’s apartment. He knows the path, memorized easily on the second time he came for a late night tryst, and he pushes for the door into his wife’s rooms harder than necessary. His body is coiled so tight that anything softer, less jerky, Anakin fears is impossible. 

Padmé’s entrance room has never seemed so intimating and massive before. It feels like galaxies from here to the refresher. Wiggling his mouth, trying to not let himself bite through his lip, Anakin shifts his arms to rest on his hands on his hips, hoping that the position change will relieve some of the weight of his upper body on his poor bladder. It doesn’t, not really. Instead, it jostles the delicate balance he’s stumbled upon, and Anakin sobs as his bladder throbs, hot throughout his abdomen like the suns. 

His sob is loud, and Anakin shakes his head as he hears Padmé coming to greet him, alerted to his presence. His head doesn’t stop moving, jerking and jerking from side to side. There’s no way he can make it to the refresher, stranded in the front of the apartment with pain eating him from the inside out, and here his wife comes. Anakin can’t see her through his panic, Padmé nothing more than the vague shape of her hair and the blue of her dress, but still he shies away from her touch. 

“Ani? What’s wrong?” Her voice is high, she’s worried, her hands are grabbing at him, rubbing along his arms, the face he sees behind the beginning of his tears crinkled, eyebrows drawn up and mouth turned down. 

Head like a limp doll, still shaking, shaking, shaking, Anakin opens his mouth. The words feel like sand, a coarse and suffocating storm that won’t do as he commands. They tumble from him in starts and stops. “I–Padmé–please don’t–the ‘fresher, I need– _please_.” 

One of Padmé’s hands stops petting him, and the next thing Anakin feels on his arm is grounding pressure, her nails digging into him. She’s going to help him make it. Sucking in breaths, trying to calm down, Anakin drops his arms. She’s going to help him. He’s then pushed backward, and confusion jolts through him, as strong as the desperation that he feels. That is wrong, so very wrong, why is Padmé–

“Ani, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Her other hand finds his stomach, and alert bells ring loudly in his ears. “Just let go. You aren’t going to make it, Ani.”

“Padm–” 

Intense pressure shuts him up, a shot of pain sparking through him as Padmé presses down briefly. Whine escaping from him, the shock has his whole body tightening. It makes this even harder, and he grabs at his wife. 

“I can’t–”

He’s immediately shushed. “I can’t carry you to the refresher, Ani. Just let go.”

Anakin shakes his head, stuttering. 

Padmé lifts an eyebrow, her whole face changing. If he weren’t in so much pain, and crying, and literally about to piss on her front door, Anakin would like that face. It’s the one she gives him when she has a plan. “Baby boy, what’s our word?”

Adjusting his weight – he’s about to leak, he’s at the end of his rope, and he has _to go_ – Anakin sobs. “Gruffle.”

“Do you want to use it?”

“We–we–we aren’t _in bed_ ,” he gasps out as he leans against the apartment door, tightening his thighs together. 

The grip on his arm gets tighter. “You can say the word any time, Ani. It’s not just when we have sex.” Padmé positions her hand above his bladder again. “Do you want to use it?”

All Anakin can do is whine. Padmé started this game at the beginning of their sexual relationship because Anakin wanted to be led, wanted her to show him how to please her and she liked it more than she should have. _He_ likes Padmé telling him what to do, carrying his decisions and letting him know he’s done well, more than he should. Anakin shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut tight; if Padmé wants to help him here like that, he’ll let her. He doesn’t care that he’s crying now; his bladder is going to burst. 

“Then, baby boy, let go for me.”

Shaking, Anakin tightens his thighs reflexively. This is counterintuitive to everything he’s ever been taught, and he ducks his head. He wants to listen to Padmé – his bladder pounds, pounds, pounds – but he can’t. He can’t just piss all over the expensive rug below him. Biting his lip, Anakin lets out a cry as the tiniest bit more urine escapes him. He needs to go so, so desperately. His whole body is aching with it, his crotch uncomfortably hot. 

Forcing his legs apart, Anakin bends forward toward his wife. Her voice enters the air around him, soft whispers of comfort as his bladder is pushed against. Sobbing, lungs suffocating from it, he feels the hot liquid start to spill as she helps him obey. His crotch rubs against his leggings as he releases, and Anakin tightens his hands on Padmé. Muscles relax in his abdomen, tension bleeding from him as he gets more and more wet. His labia stick to the soft fabric, his thighs burn as piss touches him. His leggings seem as if they’re tightening against him, temperature changing rapidly, Anakin’s awareness of them something he has never in his life had to consider. 

Crying as the drip of it gets louder, a puddle surely forming under him, Anakin buries his head into Padmé’s shoulder, her hair soft and cool against his overheated face. The grip on his arm disappears to allow Padmé to rub his back. She goes in little circles as Anakin’s relief climbs. It seems to go on forever; Anakin swears that he didn’t drink that much, but nonetheless his body sags and sags the longer he goes. He doesn’t think even orgasming feels as good as his bladder does now, nothing left in it, absolutely empty. There’s no more pain, no more weight, no more pressure about to explode him from the inside out. 

All he wants to do now is sit down, his body is so lax. 

“There you go, Ani.” A hand comes to card through his hair, press him deeper into her shoulder. “You were such a good boy for me.”

Sniffling, Anakin shakes his head, nose rubbing against Padmé’s skin. “I just–I just wet myself. And ruined your rug.”

“Such a good boy.” Her voice carries her smile. “Doing just what I told you.”

Warmth spreads through him at the praise, counteracting the start of his leggings cooling now that he’s not pissing himself. He breathes in the soft pear scent of Padmé’s hair, and he struggles to not let all of his weight collapse on his wife. 

“How about we get you washed up now, hm?”

“The rug–”

“It can wait. I’m just going to toss it out.” Padmé’s hand on his back slides to his front, to his belt. “I am, however, planning to keep this soaking wet man in front of me. Preferably in my bed for the remainder of the evening.”

“Pad _mé_ ,” he whines. She wants him in bed now? He just–opening his eyes, pulling his head away slightly, Anakin swallows at the large puddle below their feet. At least it’s not putrid yellow, he thinks, nose scrunching. Bringing his face out and lining his eyes with Padmé’s, he finds that hers are heated, her lips slightly parted. Face flushing, Anakin shuffles his feet. _Oh_. “You….you liked….this?”

A matching blush graces Padmé’s face. “Maybe? You just–you were so desperate, and you let go just because I told you.”

“Oh.” The soft squelch of him stepping in his puddle is loud, a pin dropping in an echo chamber. He just made that, and Padmé possibly enjoyed him doing it. “So it’s–it’s me, not the–”

“Yes!” Padmé’s fingers spasm in his hair, and she pauses. Her lip worries for a moment as she looks down at the floor. “I think? Mostly? You reacted so nicely as you kept going.”

Anakin swallows, highly aware of the coolness on his crotch and thighs. Padmé liked _this_ ; Padmé wants _this_ , again, maybe. “Well, um, I could–I could wash up, and then we can talk about it after?”

“Yes. Yes–that sounds like a plan. Let’s get you out of your clothes.”


End file.
